A Rose Without Petals
by N3rd-e.G3niUS
Summary: Draco Malfoy, recently released from Azkaban, Death Eaters are after him, he's destined and bound to marry Astoria Greengrass due to an Unbreakable Vow. Can Draco change in time to save himself and those he loves? R/R
1. The Release

_Some are born evil,_

_Some become evil, _

_and others have evil thrust upon them_.

The rain poured down from the violent clouds as the wind took out its anger on anything it touched including the sea itself; the clouds attacked with thunder and lightning. The tormented waves hammered the sides of the mountain that was the foundation of the foreboding wizarding jail, Azkaban. The armored sides of the dark imposing building were covered in ice. All was dark, bar one lone candle in a seldom used office, seemingly hidden in the heart of the prison from the rest of the shadows. Dementors flew around the tower like winged bats in the wind, hungry for the souls lying in barred cells they were commanded to guard. A shimmer appeared; a silver lynx leapt up the broken and dilapidated stone stairs, its light forcing the Dementors away. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic, stepped out of a small boat, which had been enchanted to keep out the water and the cold, as well as the ability to ride the rocking waves. His assistant, Percy Weasley, clumsily got out of the boat, hurriedly charming and opening a flowered Muggle umbrella to protect them against the rain. Shacklebolt's patronus leapt back down the stairs towards its master and disappeared.

"That should take care of the Dementors for the time being. We should hurry though."

"Of course, Minister," Percy replied hastily, teeth chattering from the cold, thankful that his employer shared his feelings about heading inside as soon as possible. Kingsley and Percy walked as quickly to the doors as the crumbling stairs would allow. When they reached the entrance, Kingsley took a step towards the door, leaving the safety of the umbrella, and rooted around in his purple robes for the key as rain dripped down his dark face. Meanwhile, Percy walked towards the edge of the cliff, where the steep mountainside led to the crashing waters below. Percy peered over the edge; his face blanched, and he backed up, head reeling, and nearly took out Shacklebolt's eye with the umbrella. Percy wheeled around, stuttering, (either from fear of the sudden drop, Kingsley's reaction, or just the cold. Perhaps it was a combination of all three), and apologizing to his boss sincerely.

"Weasley, please calm down. It's your first time to Azkaban. I'm not going to fire you, boy, not now," Shacklebolt said; a large, old, silver key in his hand, a small smile on his lips. Percy returned the smile weakly, trying to gain his composure.

"Better get your smiles out now, lad. You may find it difficult to smile where we're going." Percy lost all the remaining color he had, and swallowed. Kingsley inserted the key, and unlocked the great stone doors to Azkaban. Kingsley pulled on the side of the door with all the strength he could muster, forcing it open against the howling wind. As soon as the door was opened wide enough, Kingsley moved swiftly inside, keeping one hand against the door, and grabbing Percy by the shoulder of his robes and pulling him inside. Shacklebolt let the door close with a slam: the only sound in the building. The slam echoed against the walls, exaggerating the silence that usually occupied the halls afterward. The cold inside Azkaban was beyond anything Percy had ever endured. It was colder than it had been outside, where snow and ice coated everything and mixed with the sea air. It hurt to breathe, to blink. It felt as if one would die in the icy interior, and yet the body kept working, living, causing the individual souls to beg for death, but it would never come.

Lone Dementors glided through the hallways, turning towards the two visitors, sensing the new souls and hungering for their souls. Kingsley summoned his patronus once more, and the lynx materialized in front of them. Percy did the same with a muttered _Expecto Patronum, _and a beagle emerged from the tip of his wand. It growled menacingly, and then wagged its tail. Shacklebolt looked at Percy, one eyebrow raised. Percy shrugged, embarrassed. Kingsley began walking a short distance behind the patronuses, holding his wand aloft so its warm light illuminated the hallway for a few feet. Percy followed suit. The light from their wand tips did little to warm them, or light their way. It seemed the very presence of the Dementors caused all to be motionless, silent, dark, and cold. A creaky wooden door opened when the approached it and the pair passed through the opening as the door closed behind them. Pitiful sounds reached their ears; sounds of moaning, lost hopes, and tortured souls.

Stairs after stairs they walked down, until Percy lost all sense of direction. They passed hundreds of cells, some occupants more pathetic than others, some smelled of death. Finally, after what seemed to be hours, they reached the dingy office. A solitary candle lit the interior of the office, casting shadows into the corners while spilling small amounts of light onto the besmirched desk, rickety chair, and the wall of old filing cabinets. Kingsley lit a fire in the small hearth, and the additional light of the dancing flames seemed to shrink the room further, and cast an eerie glow about the room. Percy walked over to the filing cabinets, and muttered crimes he read off the drawers to himself.

"Theivery, Murder, Muggle-related incidents…Aha, Death Eater. Okay. Avery, Lestrange, Malfoy," Percy said, pulling out a folder that seemed relatively newer than the rest. He laid it on the desk, while Kingsley sat in the chair and pulled it near him. A thin scrawl in black ink wrote out the name _Malfoy, Draco Uriel. _Kingsley opened the file, and began to review the prisoner's profile and crimes; "Draco Malfoy. June 5, 1980. Arrested June 26, 1998. Arrested by: Not applicable; turned himself in. Full reasons unknown; may be Death Eater activities and later guilt. Scheduled release: September 22, 2002." Kingsley continued reading the rest of the page. "Last known to be 1.85 meters, 65.9 kg. Wand: Hawthorn and unicorn hair, 10 inches, reasonably springy. Distinguishing features: blonde, grey eyes, pale skin. Similar to all Malfoy/Black appearances. Faint scar down face and torso as well as a dark mark tattooed on left forearm." Shacklebolt scanned the rest of the packet, not really reading the tedious details of when and why for the arrest. Or lack thereof in this case. Kingsley sighed. Everything was too vague for his liking. All they really knew was the convict's appearances.

"Sir, weren't the Dementors supposed to be, er, banished?" Percy asked hesitantly. Kingsley sighed.

"Yes. Yes, they were. But they were nonetheless drawn back here, unfortunately. Anyway, the Dementors do prohibit escapees, at the very least," Shacklebolt said with a grim smile. He glanced at his watch.

"It's time to fetch the prisoner, Percy." The two men started towards a door to the rear of the office. They closed the door behind them, and entered the next room. The room was large and cavernous, a black, cracked marble floor amplified every sound in the room. The men stood, waiting, listening to the sound of their breathing in the otherwise silent, freezing room. A small door cracked open, on their right, letting in the echoing cries and moans of the prisoners, as well as the rattling breaths of two Dementors. The first of the two hovered near the door, eerily floating legless in the air. The second of the two was holding a prisoner's arms which were shackled behind his back.

"Thank you, that will be all," the Minister said, nodding to the Dementors. The Dementors glided back towards the door, which closed behind them, shutting out the sounds of the other criminals. Kingsley looked over at convict. His blonde hair was much longer than the pictures in the pictures in his file. His height seemed shrunken by the baggy, striped, washed-out uniform of the prisoners of Azkaban. His face was gaunt, the skin stretched over his angular bones. His natural, oddly handsome appearance was almost invisible to the eye. The thin, pointed features seemed tired. His cheeks were hollowed, and his face pale, causing his scar to stand out a pale pink against the pallor of his skin. The uniform was much too large for his slim frame, and gaped open at the chest, revealing the further trail of his scar as it ran down his torso, where his ribs were easy to see. His empty eyes were staring blankly at the floor, unaware of his new surroundings. Kingsley cleared his throat.

"Prisoner 62135, Draco Malfoy." Draco looked up at his name, trying to find the one who spoke. He couldn't as the only light in the room was above him, a pale quivering light that threw his gaunt features into sharp relief. Kingsley muttered _Lumos, _causing his wand to give off a pale light.

"You have served your set term. You are to be released just north of where you were raised with a set list of requirements and restrictions. You are now considered a free and innocent wizard of the wizarding world, as proclaimed by the Minister of Magic," Kingsley announced, as Percy took notes. "Any questions or comments?" Kingsley inquired Draco. Draco shook his head slightly, and looked at the minister.

"No, sir."

"Alright then. Percy, lead him to the release room." Percy nodded, and waved his wand over the shackles that held Draco's wrists behind his back. The shackles vanished, and Draco looked at the welts left on his wrists. So red they were almost brown, they were the only other color on his body besides his Mark and scar. Percy beckoned to Draco, and Draco paused a moment, considering his options, wondering whether to defy a Weasley's orders, but decided against it. The two men entered a room, where bags lined the wall, and a closet full of garment bags filled the room. Percy bustled over to the closet, and pulled out a bag with the number 62135 marked on the side. He handed it to Draco, who took it with uncertainty. Percy tried to smile at him in a comforting manner, and said "Those are your clothes you had worn when you came here. We protect them magically and you receive them when you leave. So go on, change into it. Hurry up!" Draco curled his lip slightly, but opened the bag anyways, and pulled out a black suit and long black pea coat. He changed quickly, but carefully. He didn't want to touch his marred skin anymore than necessary. When he was finished, Percy handed him an envelope and another bag.

"The envelope holds a letter telling you what you can and can't do, and what you are required to do, as well as a legal document with your profile and a note of release that you'll need to carry with you all the time as it will be your current I.D." Draco nodded. "The bag contains your wand, and whatever you had with you on time of arrest, such as money," Percy continued. "Are you ready to leave, Malfoy?" Draco nodded yet again, finding it difficult to find words. Percy held Malfoy's arm as they apparated. When the pair landed, Draco looked around. A single lamp light stood near a quiet road. Across the road, a forest grew. The forest was dark and forbidding, different, and yet similar to the grassy side on which they stood, where close by, a drop off lay, plunging into the ocean. Both forbidding, both dark, yet peaceful. Draco sighed.

"Well, Malfoy, this is where I leave you. A town lies a few miles up the road, and your home town lies a few miles down it. You are not to apparate more than three miles every four hours at any given time, but I'm sure you can find transportation of some sort," Percy said, and held out his hand to shake Draco's.

"Thank you," Draco said stiffly, holding his own hand out, cautiously, as Percy grasped it. Percy nodded in acknowledgement, and apparated away. Draco sighed again. It seems his life would always be this way. Dark, cold, alone. Maybe he liked it. But if he liked it, why did he feel like crying? _Malfoys don't cry_, he told himself. _Never_.


	2. Another Life to Live

_Each moment of your life is a picture which you have never seen before._

_And which you'll never see again,_

_so enjoy & live life & make each moment beautiful...._

Draco made his way down the road towards the town. He hoped to rent or buy some car cheap, and make his way towards Wiltshire mansion, his childhood home, and see what was left behind. He put thoughts of his near forgotten childhood out of his mind, and continued walking, silently towards the small town. After near an hour of walking, few houses started dotting the hillside, and as he neared them, a town appeared. A normal, quiet, peaceful town, where one could almost see that everyone knew each other and no trouble ever occurred except for the occasional wandering cow, or a missing lad and lass a bit after curfew. Draco sighed, and paused where two men stood chatting about some such or another. As Draco approached, the men stopped their conversation and eyed the stranger warily and curiously.

"Do you happen to know where I could buy or rent a car for a price one would carry in one's pockets?" Draco asked them, not wanting to make conversation, but wanting to leave as soon as possible without angering the locals. For how peaceful the place was, it made Draco uneasy. It allowed him to think. And thinking was not something he wished to do, for one could only ruminate over the past so many times before one gets lost in it.

"Oh yes, old wife Beady does. Her son just passed away. Some mysterious thing or another. Healthy as a horse one day, stone cold the next. I'm sure she'd like to help a fellow out," the taller of the two men said, turning to face Draco, while the shorter of the two continued to glance cautiously out of the corner of his eye.

Draco mumbled a word of thanks to the men, nodded, and walked in the direction the man had indicated.

"Did you see him?" Draco heard the shorter man say. "He looks just like him!"

"Of course I saw him," his companion replied. "I'm sure many fellows look like him."

"Not around here, they don't," continued the first. The other man grunted, and that was all Draco could here. The conversation alone put Draco on edge, and that's not mentioning the fact that they kept looking at him oddly. As he passed a bakery window, he stopped, and peered at his reflection.

Apart from his hair, Draco thought bitterly, before checking over his shoulder and drawing out his wand to attend to his knotted locks, he looked exactly the same as he had years ago. As the strangled hair vanished, and left in its place a healthy, platinum cut, he could see the boy he had known before his stay in Azkaban. The frightened man he had become during the war. The Malfoy he'd always be. Draco felt tears stinging his eyes, and thudded his fist on the window. Screwing up his face in anger, he tensed himself, bracing his body against the tears. Soon, anger replaced the sadness. Some naïve, simple part of him had hoped his term in Azkaban would somehow change him. Make him guiltless, free. Instead, it gave him time to wallow in his misery, his past. And his light at the end of that dark tunnel turned out not to be salvation, rather damnation as he realized he could never run from who he was. He was destined to be a Malfoy, and everything associated with one.

Draco took a shuddering breath, and straightened his defeated posture. He continued towards his destination, and when he arrived, he was met with a pleasant sight. In the whole of the quiet, peaceful town, this one house seemed to be the pith of the joy that was meant to reign in these hills. The house was more of a cottage, with flowers and bright paint around the windows. Puffy white valances hung above overflowing window boxes, creating a charming, quaint setting. But the cottage seemed out of place. The dark sky, filled with clouds and mists from the ocean cast an eerie, depressing light about the house. Draco felt pity for the woman who lived here, even though he didn't know her, and even though she had a wonderful house. He wanted her to move somewhere happy, near a forest full of deer where a creek ran through. Draco was interrupted from his thoughts when he heard a door open, and a voice offer a word in greeting.

He looked up at who had spoken. A woman, not much older than his mother, walked out of the house.

"Can I help you?" she asked, nervously, eying him as the men had eyed him earlier, but seemingly in a gentler way; a soft, sad way.

"Uh, yes, actually. You see, I talked to two men near the edge of town, asking for a car to buy, and they pointed me here, but if you can't help me I understand," he finished, concerned by the expression on her face and her flyaway light brown hair, laced with grey that was loosely gathered in a bun at the nape of her neck. His eyes flicked down towards her dress, a simple calico one with an apron that held an array of flour splotches, and a pair of fluffy purple slippers completed the ensemble. He looked back at her face. She was elegant, in a country sort of way. She reminded him of his mother, the blue eyes, and the nervousness, the same will to live, and fight anything in her path; the will to fight for what she loves.

"Oh yes, yes of course," she replied, flustered. "It's over here. It's old, but cheap. And my son won't…need it anymore," she continued, her voice breaking on the last phrase. Draco was going to attempt to comfort her, but had no idea what to say, so he kept his mouth closed. She led him around the side of the cottage where an old, brown car sat, forlorn and empty.

"Well, this is it. It's not much but it's faithful and it'll get you where you want to go," the woman said.

"It's perfect," Draco, feeling some need to assure her, said. "How much?"

"Oh," the woman began, and faltered. "You look so much like Darien, my son. He passed away. He was the previous owner of this car, here, actually." She looked away from him, and back to the car and laid her hand on the hood fondly, tears in her eyes. She took a breath, and smiled back at him.

"I'd like you to have it. Please. Just take it. Take it where you need to go," she encouraged, holding the keys out to him.

"Are you sure?" Draco asked, feeling apprehensive about taking such an emotionally valuable possession from the kindly woman.

"Yes, yes, of course. Please take it. It needs to have another young man behind the wheel. Another life to help live."

"What is your name?" Draco inquired, feeling a need to not forget the woman.

"I'm Beady. Francine Beady."

"Well, Francine Beady, I shall take this car, and take care of it for you, and for Darien," Draco promised.

"Oh, thank you, lad. Please just take it. You should head off wherever you're headed before it gets dark, now," Francine chided, smiling now, at the thought of another mother's son being able to do what he needs to do to live a wonderful life. "If you ever need somewhere to stay or a warm bed for the night, you're always welcome back."

"Thank you, Francine," Draco said earnestly, while promising himself he'd improve the life of this woman somehow. Allow her to see the sun for the rest of her life. Draco removed the envelope from his coat pocket and placed it in the glove box, and then belted in and put the key in the ignition. He started the car, and put a hand on the gear shift before looking one last time at the woman.

"What's your name?" Francine asked, searching his eyes, seemingly trying to find a purpose as to why he would come here. A boy who looks just like her son. Her Darien.

"Draco," he replied simply. And with that he backed up onto the road and drove out of the town, leaving the odd looks, gossip, and quiet behind him. And Francine, a woman he may never see again, with his name whispered on her lips.


	3. Can't Go Back

A/N It'll speed up after this, i just needed to set everything up. I promise! Enjoy!

Draco drove for a short while, turning on the first off road he came upon, deliberately postponing his return, afraid of what he would, or wouldn't find at his childhood home. Rain started sprinkling from the dark side, the mist from the ocean being blown inland by the wind. With a sigh, he turned on the radio, hoping to find something to distract his thoughts. An acoustic intro played, and a single male voice sang.

_Hey dad look at me  
Think back and talk to me  
Did I grow up according to plan?_

With a sardonic smile, Draco felt bitter emotions wash over him. His father: harsh, critical, cold.

"What plan?" Draco asked himself harshly. "The footsteps of my father; to be alone, mistrusted, and end up in Azkaban?" Draco came upon an alcove near the seaside, and pulled over.

_  
And do you think I'm wasting my time doing things I wanna do?  
'Cuz it hurts when you disapprove all along  
_

Draco stood with his hands in his coat pockets and closed his eyes, turning his face towards the sky as the water from the sky rained down. Something he'd always done as a kid. Something his father thought was inappropriate to do. _We're people, not ducks, Draco,_ his father had told him. Draco loved the rain, it made him feel empty of all thoughts, all stresses. Draco returned to the car, and slammed the door shut.

_  
And now I try hard to make it  
I just want to make you proud  
I'm never gonna be good enough for you  
_

He drove down the lane that marked the entrance to his childhood home, bracing himself for what he might see. He didn't know what would be worse; seeing his father and listening to everything he didn't do well enough. Or not seeing his parents at all.

_I can't pretend that_

_I'm alright  
And you can't change me  
_

Draco drove through the large gates which opened after sensing his presence. He continued along the hedgerows, and noticed them thinning more and more as he neared the entrance. The sight he saw at the end of the road was shocking to him. It caused all thoughts and emotion to leave his mind, all energy drained from his body.

_  
'Cuz we lost it all  
Nothing lasts forever  
I'm sorry  
I can't be perfect  
_

Wiltshire mansion, his home, lay in ruin. It was obvious that no one had been there in a long time, and the last ones to have stepped foot on the property left the manor in devastation.

_Now it's just too late and  
We can't go back  
I'm sorry  
I can't be perfect  
_

Draco entered through the ruined doors. The elegant, intricately carved doors to the mansion had indents from spells smattered across them. As Draco maneuvered around the hallway where paintings lay in pieces on the ground, the Persian carpet burnt beyond repair in some places and besmirched in others. He entered the parlor door, where the chandelier lay smashed on the floor, and desks were overturned near the once secret opening to his father's Dark Arts chamber. One lone photograph lay on the floor underneath a broken frame. Draco moved towards the picture.

_  
I try not to think  
About the pain I feel inside  
Did you know you used to be my hero?  
_

The picture was one of him and his father, the proud, stoic man that Draco looked up to for so long. The photograph was taken on Draco's fifth birthday, after he had gotten his new toy broom. He had loved that broom so much. And the look that Draco had on his face in that picture was one of excitement of his new toy, and one of great admiration. The Lucius in the photo stood with a proud look on his face, and he would keep looking down at the small boy standing next to him, smile slightly and resume his proud position. The boy, on the other hand, zoomed around the frame on his toy broom, and land, stopping to glance at his father for approval.

_All the days you spent with me  
Now seem so far away  
And it feels like you don't care anymore  
_

Draco turned the photo over to check the date. Eleven years before he became a Death Eater. Eleven years when his father actually thought that he, Draco, had some potential.

_  
And now I try hard to make it  
I just want to make you proud  
_

Draco remembered that ache he felt daily trying to please his father; that driving desire to receive one good word, one smile from his father.

_I'm never gonna be good enough for you  
I can't stand another fight  
And nothing's alright  
_

Draco remembered the day that he had walked out on his parents, not wanting to feel that way anymore. He didn't want to fight anymore. And now, he had nothing. They had nothing.

_  
'Cuz we lost it all  
Nothing lasts forever  
I'm sorry  
I can't be perfect  
Now it's just too late and  
We can't go back  
I'm sorry  
I can't be perfect_Draco pocketed the photo, and turned to leave the house. As he left the room, he noticed red stains on the wall along with a bejeweled dagger pinning a note to the wall. Draco removed the knife to take the note that was addressed to _My Dearest Draco _in his mother's handwriting. He pocketed it without reading it. It was probably a note condemning his behavior.

_Nothing's gonna change the things that you said  
Nothing's gonna make this right again  
_

Or a note apologizing for their behavior, that they had wanted their only son back. Draco didn't care. He felt nothing more for his deceased parents. As Draco exited the large doors and returned outside, he noticed his racing broom lying broken in half on the gravel.

_Please don't turn your back  
I can't believe it's hard  
Just to talk to you  
But you don't understand  
_

The Nimbus 2001 his father had bought for him so he would be on the Quidditch team. Something else Draco had done to please his father, but even that brought no comfort. He had tried to tell his father that he didn't want to be on the team. Watching the games was enough. That was the first time his father had told him he didn't matter. He was twelve.

_  
'Cuz we lost it all  
Nothing lasts forever  
I'm sorry  
I can't be perfect  
Now it's just too late and  
We can't go back  
I'm sorry  
I can't be perfect  
_

Draco sat down in his car, and looked at the ruined house once more. Everything he'd ever known was gone. His parents were dead, his childhood was dead. And now, he was alone in the world where no one trusted him. No one knew him. An open opportunity to make a new life for himself.

_  
'Cuz we lost it all  
Nothing lasts forever  
I'm sorry  
I can't be perfect  
Now it's just too late and  
We can't go back  
I'm sorry  
I can't be perfect_

But, he realized, he didn't want it. Draco drove back to the alcove where he had stood an hour ago relishing the rain. The rain pounded the roof of the car with a monotonous rhythm. Rain ran down the windshield of the old car. _Malfoys don't cry_, his father had told him

Draco folded his arms across the steering wheel, put his head down and cried.

A/N song credits Perfect by Simple Plan

Review! you know you want to! =D


	4. Her

_Moments are just like pictures_

_Seconds are color paints_

_Frame by frame life continues_

_This is your new snapshot_

December 22, 2002.

Three months after Draco's release.

Draco sighed as he set his mug of firewhiskey on his desk and turned back to his papers. The Ministry had given him a job in journalism, however he was so low in rank all it consisted of was organizing the piles of research by date, or author, depending on the journalist or reporter's preferences. He squinted, trying to read the scrawling print and realized his spell was wearing off; the one he used so he didn't have to wear glasses. He pulled open a drawer in his desk and reached for his wand. He flinched as the wand emitted a spark warning him it was past curfew for him to use magic. He slammed the drawer closed and slumped back in his chair. A whistling noise echoed around the apartment; a wind from an open extinguished the candle on his desk, leaving the apartment shrouded in darkness. Draco subconsciously felt his arm that carried the Dark Mark.

"What the devil?" Draco asked, moving towards his front door. He opened it, and turned towards the sound of rustling leaves. A bright light flashed, blinding him for a moment. He flinched, but when he recovered, silence resumed. He noticed a glow from his door. A Dark Mark glowed for a moment, then faded. A cold feeling gripped at his stomach. _They were after him. _

It was many hours until Draco could fall asleep that night, but eventually the working day caught up with him. He would have slept the day away if a knock on the door hadn't woken him. He opened his eyes, and then closed them quickly as the late morning sun shone in his room. He groaned and grabbed his robe from where it was hanging on his bedpost, threw it on and went to the door.

Astoria Greengrass stood waiting on the doorstep of the small apartment, clutching a letter in her hand with her arms folded across her chest. _What is taking him so long…I hope this is the right house. _

Draco opened the door, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand while stifling a yawn. "Can I help you?" he asked condescendingly. Astoria opened her mouth but no words could come out. Although she hated the man, she couldn't help but be attracted to him. He was slight, but toned in a modest way and the sacrs only helped to accentuate his pale skin that showed through his open robe.

"Woman?" Draco prompted, getting annoyed. Astoria shook her head to rid herself of speechlessness.

"I have this letter here, for you, I think. Mr. Malfoy?" Astoria inquired. Draco sniffed and took the letter from her hand in response. "I'm guessing that's a yes?" she asked rhetorically. Draco frowned as he continued down the page. When he reached the bottom, he handed it back.

"I don't find this amusing. I have no money, no family, nothing," Draco said vehemently.

"What are you talking about?" Astoria asked offended and confused.

"Haven't you read the bloody letter?"

"No. What does it say?"

"Read it yourself," Draco said and closed the door in her face. Astoria felt tears of offense and hurt stinging her eyes. She blinked a few times and shook her head. She unfolded the letter and began to read.

After slamming the door, Draco slumped against it, sighing as he did so. _What is wrong with my life? _

…_and with it, you are promised to each other by an Unbreakable Vow. Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass will wed before the age of 23. _

Astoria stopped reading. She was only 21. She wondered how old Draco was. If this were truly an Unbreakable Vow, she did not want to die. But she didn't know if she'd rather die than marry _him_.


	5. United

_Live for the sake of living,_

_Love, til your heart is breaking, _

_Give your all and don't hold back, _

_Tell the truth and don't forget to _

_laugh, til your body's aching,_

_cry, til your hands are shaking,_

_Whatever you do, don't live a whatever life. _

Draco kept thinking about Astoria in the days that followed their meeting. She never came back, and left no address for him to find her; not that he planned on finding her anyway. Life wasn't that fantastic; what possible harm could breaking an Unbreakable Vow do? Draco paused for a moment; he couldn't let her die.

Draining the last bit of Firewhiskey on his desk, and grabbing a coat from the back of his chair, Draco rushed out the door. For some strange reason, he felt the dire need to find her; to do something with his life. He ran out onto the streets of London, pushing past people as they made their way in the early morning to the subways. He noticed a blonde head of golden hair heading away from him. He rushed towards it, but he soon lost her. He began to panic.

"Excuse me, have you seen a blonde woman?" he asked an elderly man.

"If I have, why would I tell you?" he asked with a shrewd look in his eye.

"I need to marry her," Draco answered, deciding that the truth could hardly hurt at this time.

"Well, aren't we all looking for a blonde beauty to marry…" the old man trailed off wistfully. Draco curled his lip in disgust. This man was far too old for Astoria.

"Just tell me if you've seen her or not," Draco said frustrated and angry. "Please," he added as an afterthought in an overly calm tone. The man looked up. Draco noticed that the eyes didn't seem as old as the body. Disconcerted, he looked away.

"I haven't seen any, and trust me, I would know." Draco nodded wearily. He thanked the man and turned, surveying the area; trying to find the best place to look. For all he knew, Astoria lived in Antarctica. Draco looked back for the old man to ask him where the upscale lived, but the man was gone, and all that was left was a drop of thick green liquid. Draco wrinkled his nose; muggles were so very disgusting. Deciding that there was nothing else left to do he wandered further up the street.

Meanwhile, Astoria was wandering around London sipping some coffee out of a Styrofoam cup. She looked in windows at the things to buy as she walked. Every blond man that walked by caused her to flinch. She had been avoiding his street, and anyone who reminded her of him since that morning. Dodging a tall thin man, she turned quickly and walked around a trash bin that sat on the sidewalk. As she turned her head over her shoulder to look back at the man, she ran into a person ahead of her. She let out an oof as her cheek hit the person's chest. She slipped on the cement in her heels and fell backward. Astoria closed her eyes, bracing herself for the fall to the ground, and gasped in surprise when her rear hit early. She looked down; she had ended up sitting on the hood of a car parked near the sidewalk. She looked back at the person she'd run into; their hands were outstretched as if to help her. Then, their eyes met; cerulean blue to steel grey.

"It's you!" they both exclaimed. Then, they began talking over each other.

"Astoria, I've been looking for you and—" Draco began.

"I've been trying to avoid you what are you doing here? I was just minding my own business—"

"Well does that really matter? We have a promise to keep."

"Promise? Mine was to leave you alone!"

"I'd love the same thing, naturally, but obviously we can't do that because—"

"Well God forbid that the Unbreakable Vow is real but—"

"I don't want you to die," Draco said solemnly. Astoria looked at him, the way he said it caused a feather of pain to tickle the back of her nose and tears to come to her eyes.

"What?" she said in amazement.

"I know I was a prat, and I still am. But I don't think we need to kill ourselves over this," he said, with a small twitch in his upper lip. Astoria smiled, and blinked back the tears. Draco Malfoy had smiled, and almost apologized. She couldn't believe it. This couldn't be the man she had met in his bathrobe that morning; couldn't be the Death Eater's son at Hogwarts that every Slytherin had heard so much about.

"So are you going to ask me to marry you then?" Astoria asked, her arms folded across her chest once more.

"How about you do this somewhere else, then?" a Muggle man asked. The pair looked at him, frowning. "What? That's my car, it is. Move your lady's buttocks, eh?" the man demanded, angrily. Draco reached for Astoria's hand, then paused, and took her elbow instead. Astoria let him assist her off the hood of the car. As soon as she was on her feet, Draco let go and moved, allowing her some space. The Muggle moved to the front of his car and whipped out a handkerchief and began cleaning the hood of his car. Draco and Astoria looked at the man, then each other, then began laughing.

_Yes_, Astoria thought_, this is a life or death situation. I don't love him, I don't even like him. But maybe, just maybe we can get out of this with our lives. _

Draco's thoughts were whirring through his mind. _He wasn't really laughing, was he? _It had been so long since he had anything to smile about. He didn't like the woman, she wasn't even that attractive. But perhaps it was worth it to live through this.


End file.
